Pulp - Charles Bukowski [97]
“Suck on this awhile, chap, while I think about what I’m going to do.”
Bernie made a gurgling sound.
“Don’t kill him!” said Deja. “Please don’t kill him!”
“What do you know about the Red Sparrow, motherfucker?” I asked him.
He didn’t answer.
I shoved the gun deeper into his mouth. Then I heard him fart. It was a loud fart. And a stinking one. I pulled the gun out and threw him to the floor.
“That was disgusting! Don’t ever do that again!”
I turned and looked at Deja.
“Does he have a room here?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Bernie.
“Now, you go to your room and stay there until I tell you to come out!”
Bernie nodded.
“Now get going,” I told him.
He got to his feet and slumped off, went around the corner. Soon I heard a door close.
Deja had put out her cigar. She was no longer smiling.
“O.k., baby,” I said, “let’s get back to where we left off.”
“I don’t want to.”
“What? Why? You had your tongue halfway down my esophagus.”
“I’m afraid of you, you’re too violent.”
“But he said he was going to kill you, didn’t you hear him?”
“He probably didn’t mean it.”
“You don’t go on ‘probably’ when love and guns are in hand.”
Deja sighed.
“I’m worried about Bernie. He’s sitting in his room all alone.”
“Doesn’t he have a tv? Crossword puzzles? A comic book?”
“Please, Mr. Belane, please leave!”
“Baby, I want to get to the bottom of this Red Sparrow thing.”
“Not tonight…not tonight.”
“When then?”
“Tomorrow night. Same time.”
“Send Bernie to a movie or something.”
“All right.”
I reached down, grabbed my drink, finished it off. I left her sitting on the couch, staring at the rug. I closed the door behind me, walked down the hall, out the front door and back to my car. I got in and kicked the engine over. I sat and let it warm up. It was a warm moonlight night. And I still had a hard-on.
42
I drove down to a bar where I hadn’t been in trouble yet—Blinky’s. It looked fair at first glance: lots of leather booths, fools, darkness, smoke. A congenial deadliness floated in the air. I found a booth, sat down. Waitress arrived dressed in some silly outfit—pink playsuit with cotton pushing up her breasts. She smiled a horrible smile, showed one gold tooth. Her eyes read empty.
“What’ll it be, honey?” her voice grated.
“Two bottles of beer. No glass.”
“Two bottles, honey?”
“Yeah.”
“What brand?”
“Something Chinese.”
“Chinese?”
“Two bottles of Chinese beer. No glass.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“You gonna drink both those beers?”
“I hope so.”
“Then why don’t you drink one, then order another? Stay cold that way.”
“I just want to do it this way. There’s a reason, I guess.”
“You find out that reason, honey, you tell me…”
“Why should I tell you? Maybe I want to keep it to myself.”
“Sir, you know, we don’t have to serve you. We reserve the right to refuse service to anybody.”
“You mean, you won’t serve me because I’m ordering two Chinese beers and not telling you why?”
“I didn’t say we wouldn’t serve you. I said we reserve the right not to.”
“Look, the reason is security, a subconscious need for security. I had a rotten childhood. Two bottles at once fills a void that needs filling. Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Honey, I’m going to tell you something. You need a shrink.”
“All right. But until I get one, can I have two bottles of Chinese beer?”
A big guy in a dirty white apron walked up.
“What’s the trouble here, Betty?”
“This guy wants two bottles of Chinese beer. Without a glass.”
“Betty, he’s probably waiting for a friend.”
“He doesn’t have a friend, Blinky.”
Blinky looked at me. He was another big fat guy. He was two big fat guys.
“Don’t you have a friend?” he asked me.
“No,” I answered.
“Then what do you want with two bottles of Chinese beer?”
“I want to drink them.”
“Why don’t you order one, finish it, then order another?”
“I’d rather do it this way.”
“I never heard of that,” said Blinky.
“Why can’t I do it? Is it against the law?”
“No, it’s just strange, that’s all.”
“I told him he needs a shrink,” said Betty.
They both